


you called (i can't hear a thing)

by blackice



Category: xXx (Movies), xXx: Return of Xander Cage
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, As domestic as Triple X can get, Domestic Fluff??, F/F, Loud Sex, M/M, More Foreplay than You Would Expect, Multi, POV Multiple, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackice/pseuds/blackice
Summary: “Becky. Becky, please,” said Nicks. “I need soundproof earplugs. Like, military-grade earplugs. The hotel was forwarding all the noise to complaints to me and Tenns, cause people,” Nicks glared at the table, “weren’t picking up their rooms’ phones.”The alternative reason as to why the whole of Triple X is unable to function in long-term missions together.





	you called (i can't hear a thing)

**Author's Note:**

> My initial idea for writing for the Triple X fandom was a Xiang character study and 4+k worth of purple prose involving Secret Agent Things and Xiang's crew. And then I lost steam for that, and miraculously (possibly deliriously) decided a fic about Competitive Loud Sex was much better. It was definitely more entertaining.

After the Marke Fiasco, Triple X scattered across the globe in pairs of twos or threes. It varied depending on the severity of the crisis; one month, Serena would be trekking Nepal with Xander, and then the next month there would be a reunion with Xiang’s crew in Los Angeles, California. The only time Triple X came together for a complete roll call was during a Big Operation.

Big Operations meant urgent short-burst missions, the kind where you had to save the world in less than a week. They were usually the result of Becky infiltrating and exploiting spy networks when she could; otherwise, Triple X members could be found doing a variety of other things like partying at Singapore or murdering poachers in the Amazon.

When there was a Big Operation, two elements had to be requested: a safe-house with a minimum of three beds, and the attendance of all Triple X members. Some months ago, it had been a stuffy warehouse in Nairobi with stacked cardboard boxes for walls. For the past week, it was a nice bed-and-breakfast hotel in Casablanca.

The morning recovery after the successful Big Operation (no fatalities, no sudden backstabbing, world saved), Adele staggered down two flights of stairs to enter the breakfast room, bleary-eyed. Serena had left the room earlier, pressing a kiss to Adele’s reddened wrists as her way of saying ‘see you later.’ Becky had stolen the elevator and waved goodbye at Adele before a hand could be shoved in-between the sliding doors.

Triple X had commandeered a long table. There were three chairs left; after Adele had plated her scrambled eggs and waffle, there were two. Seated across from her, Talon happily forked his own eggs onto his toast for an open-faced sandwich.

“I have beef with you,” said Adele to Talon. Without taking her eyes off him, she groped for a coffee that didn’t exist. Because of course she’d forgot to make a cup. Shit. Becky (bless her) nudged a go-to cup in Adele’s direction. “Thanks, love.”

Talon put his sandwich back down on his plate, tented his fingers together, and rested his chin on the clasped fist. “Beef?” he echoed.

“Beef,” Adele repeated. “You and bonehead—can you keep a lid on it next time?” She tried her best glare: a combination of narrowed eyes, curling upper lip, and flared nostrils. In response, Talon grinned the way only shitheads could grin. The way only trolls on online multiplayer grinned when they were safe in the knowledge that she couldn’t possibly dox their house.

Must be the morning fog ruining her glare game. Adele glanced at her coffee and prayed it wasn’t decaf.

“Didn’t think  _ I _ was being loud,” said Talon. “Maybe you’re thinking of Hawk.”

Half-awake and slathering a bagel with strawberry preserves, Hawk mumbled, “’S’not me. All your fault.”

“Someone was screaming last night,” Adele said. “And fuck you both, I know it was your room.”

-0-

[LAST NIGHT]

Hawk bit into the meat of his wrist, eyes screwing shut. Fingers wrapped around the thick limb and tugged it away. Above Hawk, straddling his thighs, Talon laughed. “No, no, no,” said his lover of six years now. “You pull all kinds of noises from me, so I gotta get yours. It’s fair.” He licked the exposed neck and bit the straining tendon.

“Fair?” gasped Hawk. He grasped at the bed sheets, bunching them in his fists. Talon was particular about control sometimes, and tonight—tonight, Talon wanted Hawk to have a measure of  _ self-control _ and not clutch and leave finger-shaped bruises on Talon’s hips. “What’s fair got to do with this? I’m not a bloody fucking tease to you all the time, am I?”

“Always,” Talon contradicted, and he splayed his hands over broad pectorals, tugging lightly at the blond hairs. “You always want me to beg for your dick.” He leaned down and pecked Hawk once on a flushed cheek before rearing back with another grin. “Guess what?  _ Your turn _ .”

Hawk tipped his head back further into the pillow, glared at the ceiling, and groaned. He wished it was entirely theatrical, or even partially, but no. All his frustration at Talon’s obstinacy was one-hundred percent real. “You know that I know I’m gonna,” Hawk cleared his throat a little awkwardly, startled by Talon scooting down, sucking at and massaging the slight layer of fluff over his abdominals.

Triple X didn’t skimp on food. And Hawk wasn’t developing a beer belly or anything; it was just pudge that wouldn’t go away. Talon occasionally made a fuss over it.

“Gonna what?” asked Talon, dragging him from his thoughts.

“Gonna  _ beg for your dick _ ,” Hawk said, snarling. “So why don’t you get to the fun part already, huh?”

Scandalized, Talon gasped and pushed himself up. The skin of his wrists scraped Hawk’s waist. “Skip foreplay?” He rolled his hips; Hawk exhaled sharply at the hard length brushing against his leg, at the sharp nip to the thin skin over his hipbones. “Sounds boring.”

“I hate you,” said Hawk. He looked down to see Talon slick two of his fingers, the shine of the lube glistening in the bad lighting of their hotel room. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Talon rolled his eyes. “Pushy, pushy,” he taunted, and he pressed the pads of his slicked fingers against Hawk’s entrance. Pressure, light and teasing. “Remember. No grabbing me.” Almost reflexively, Hawk locked his hands under his pillowed head and swallowed past a dry throat when dark eyes gleamed.

Talon slid his fingers up to the second knuckle, stretching out the rim of muscle even as it tightened. The chance to snark back at Talon disappeared in that instant, whisking away Hawk’s insults and retorts. But at least Hawk managed to stifle any outcry into a loud choked gasp. “Piece of absolute shite you are,” he said tightly.

Instead of insulting Hawk back, Talon grabbed one of Hawk’s legs and urged it backwards as far as possible. Hawk’s lack of flexibility made it more of an ordeal that it should have been, but then again, Hawk was built to withstand blows, not to bend with them.

He twisted at the clever press of fingers to his prostate, at the warning of a third against his hole. Hawk hissed a curse for Talon to go faster; when Talon said, “Look at me then,” he did.

Talon, knelt in-between Hawk’s knees, hands spreading Hawk wide. Talon’s mouth, hovering right over Hawk’s cock. Talon’s breath, almost ticklish as the puffs of air caressed the head.

“God,” said Hawk.

“Thanks,” said Talon, and he dragged his mouth from the base to tip, creating a hot suction with his lips and tongue. He thrust his fingers in, curled and fanned them as far as possible, and slowly pulled them out.

And Hawk, caught off-guard, yelped.

-0-

“It wasn’t screaming anyhow,” said Hawk. He took the napkin Talon offered and roughly scrubbed the tissue over his mouth and beard. Talon tutted, repossessed the napkin, and did a cursory wipe at the corner of Hawk’s mouth. “Did I miss a spot, or is Talon fucking with me?”

“Absolutely fucking you if I heard right last night,” groused Nicks into his half-eaten waffle. Adele muttered an agreement; she blinked when he pointed his fork at her, maple syrup dripping onto the tabletop. “You too.  _ All  _ of you need to keep the sex noise down, alright?”

Becky helpfully pushed the fork away from Adele’s face using her own fork and said, “Uh-huh.” Nicks stared at the offending object, but decided not to irritate their one, limited-edition tech support/handler.

Because he needed a favor. “Becky. Becky, please,” said Nicks. “I need soundproof earplugs. Like, military-grade earplugs. The hotel was forwarding all the noise to complaints to me and Tenns, cause people,” Nicks glared at the table, “weren’t picking up their rooms’ phones.”

“Couldn’t hear it ringing,” said Talon lazily.

Serena, leaning back in her chair like she owned the world, said, “We had the room phone on silent.” The team, sans Adele and Becky, stared at Serena. She smirked. “It got very annoying.”

-0-

[LAST NIGHT]

“Come ‘round here often?” asked Adele to Serena’s jawline. Adele’s wrists, cuffed in pink fuzzy handcuffs (the cheap kind that was almost laughably easy to break), were folded on top of her own stomach. They’d move when Serena would scoot out from being Adele’s personal chair. It was too awkward otherwise to try and hook her wrists over Serena’s neck.

Could look hot. But only for like, a minute before the muscle strain would be too much.

They were both naked, save for their underwear. Serena was sitting against the headboard, Adele in her lap. Becky was busy digging through her luggage for their stockpile of sex toys and condoms, occasionally tossing an item onto their shared queen-sized bed.

“To Casablanca?” Serena returned, running her hands over taut pale skin. She traced the soft undersides of Adele’s breasts with her nails first, then the pads of her fingers. “No,” she answered thoughtfully, cupping and squeezing lightly. “But I always liked the movie.”

“Movie was shite,” Adele claimed instinctively. Fixated on the building pile of sex toys—vibrators, ribbed and not, dicks and not-quite-dicks—Adele called out to Becky, “Love, you done yet?”

“Almost,” said Becky. “I just—”

All of them winced at the sudden loud moan piercing the air. It’d started some ten minutes ago; Serena had pegged the source as Hawk, who (she told Adele and Becky conspiratorially) was basically Talon’s boyfriend of five years. Hawk would also be Talon’s husband if one of them ever summoned the balls to buy the ring and a clergyman’s blessing.

Becky had said the best reaction was to just go to sleep. She’d brought multiple pairs of earplugs, military-grade, for scenarios like this. As Becky had brandished a pair, a cut-off wail had reached them. Serena confirmed, unnecessarily, that it was still Hawk.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Adele had said. “They’re in the room across from us. They’re having loud sex on  _ purpose _ .” Asked for her point, she’d cleared her throat and said in a grandiose manner, “We have to beat them.”

And now they were here: Serena, with Adele in her lap. Becky, gathering supplies for a night of obnoxious loud sex.

Becky pulled out a last vibrator—it was offputtingly green. She climbed onto the bed, tore open a condom packet, and started to roll it on. “This is so petty,” she realized. “This is so petty, what if Xiang and Xander kill us, oh my god. Oh my god what if Xiang and Xander kill us. Guys. We’re having competitive loud sex. In Casablanca.”

“City of love,” said Serena breezily. “And it would not be the first time.”

“Oh,” Adele teased, “you have experience?” She wriggled in Serena’s arms, rocking down in the lap containing her. Serena was sensitive around her thighs, and Adele was never above exploiting that fact. “In loud sex,” she clarified after a second.

Beneath Adele, Serena’s hips jumped. Her knees spread further. Yet her voice was still steady; the woman’s self-control was enviable, and entirely the reason Adele volunteered to be the one wailing her orgasms out. “In  _ competitive _ loud sex,” Serena corrected. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard Xiang. He’s not the type to let others be number one.”

“I’m surprised management hasn’t booted them out yet,” snarked Becky, and she crawled up to settle beside Serena, armed with her vibrator. She leaned in to kiss Serena, then angled her head down to brush her lips against Adele’s forehead. “Kidding. I made sure we had the entire wing for Triple X. The only reason we haven’t heard complaints is because Xiang paid off staff to ignore us.”

As if on cue, the phone rang in their room.

Adele closed her eyes. “That phone isn’t ringing.”

It rang again. Adele went limp, all her limbs going heavy. Becky looked faintly murderous, so Serena rolled her eyes, groped at the bedside table for her silencer, aimed, and fired at the cord connecting the phone to the electronic outlet.

The bullet made a faint thud as it cut the cord and buried itself into the wall.

“Good shot,” praised Becky.

“I know,” said Serena, pleased. She readjusted Adele in her lap, hands clutching thighs and tugging them apart. Adele twitched back into action, her muscles going tense with anticipation. “I’m thinking,” she told Becky, “we should aim for three tonight.”

Becky reached and traced a thumb around Adele’s labia, scratching the wiry hairs with a trimmed fingernail. She was considering it. Adele was picturing how Becky was forming a battle plan for tonight’s entertainment, featuring three (and only vaguely three, because what if—what if it meant one per person three, not three for Adele herself?) orgasms.

It involved lots of edging. God, she hated edging.

“I think more is good,” Adele interrupted. Becky knelt in-between Adele and Serena’s legs; she flicked the on-switch of the green toy and tucked it into Serena’s underwear. Then her ran her fingers up from Adele’s cunt to her waist. “Yeah,” said Adele a little more frantically. “More. More orgasms would be good. Like, an orgasm every hour. Yeah?”

Serena rested her chin at the juncture of Adele’s shoulder and neck and said, “That would be a lot of orgasms.” Her strained voice spoke volumes of the influence Adele’s incessant squirming against Becky’s feather-light touches had against her.

And the vibrator. It was buzzing lowly. Adele wondered if it was positioned to tease at Serena’s clit or entrance, but those thoughts dissipated with the introduction of two gun-calloused hands at her breasts and two softer hands revisiting her inner thighs.

“I mean,” reasoned Becky, “we’re in like, a sex competition to be super loud.” She grinned at her two lovers, glasses flashing in the terrible room lighting. “And I’m good at getting you guys super loud.”

Softly, meant for shared commiseration with Serena only, Adele muttered, “Oh, fuck.”

-0-

“I didn’t hear them,” denied Talon, and he took a massive bite of his sandwich. At his other side, Tennyson chuffed a laugh into his cereal. Cheerios, it turned out, were the ubiquitous companion to waffle-makers in all bed-and-breakfasts. Especially plain Cheerios.

“Y’didn’t hear them?” Tennyson probed. “I think they hit a new decibel of noise.”

Talon swallowed his mouthful of toast and egg. He looked not a little outraged. Hawk, on the other hand, appeared conflicted between sharing Talon’s expression and thankful. But it was Talon who said: “What? You and Nicks room right next to us, and you think  _ they _ were louder?”

“Burns, doesn’t it,” said Serena. “I think we did hit a record last night.” She peered at Becky. “Were you counting? I wasn’t, after the third.”

“Third of yours or mine?” asked Adele.

Nicks cleared his throat. “ _ Anyway _ . Becky? The earplugs?” He nodded back at Becky’s bobbing head; she was still scarfing down a waffle. “Thanks. I figured none of you would agree to shutting the fuck up.” He scowled at them; the effect was rendered useless due to the mirrored sunglasses perched on his nose. “Y’all love screaming from adrenaline too much.”

-0-

[LAST NIGHT]

Putting the television on max volume to drown out the sex noises  _ coming _ from  _ two rooms _ now would just incite their team to be louder, Tennyson had reasoned. And so here he and Nicks were, trying to recover from a Big Operation in their shared room while their friends (???) engaged in loud sex.

“I’m dying,” said Nicks, his voice muffled by the pillow he was clutching to his face. On the other bed, Tennyson ignored him and continued watching Top Gear on the television. It was on mute, but there were encoded subtitles. At least one of them was happy.

An hour ago, Nicks had punched the wall between their and Hawk and Talon’s room, trying to communicate through Morse code how they needed to stop moaning loudly.

In defiance, Talon had started railing Hawk so hard the goddamn headboard started hitting the wall.

It was still hitting the wall. What the fuck was this guy’s stamina?

The only reason Nicks knew it was Talon fucking Hawk and not the other way around was because Hawk was begging for Talon to go faster and harder. The begging alternated with cussing, because apparently Talon was a tease.

These were things Nicks did not want to know. Ever.

“You got ta learn how ta sleep through any storm, Nicks,” said Tennyson wisely. When Nicks lifted the pillow off his face and glanced over, Tennyson looked on the verge of passing out. “’S useful technique. Where’re your, ah, Beats?”

Adele, wailing from overstimulation. It was a loud and long cry, one that caused Nicks to feel more disgruntled than aroused by.

“Santa Fe,” said Nicks. “You threw them out the balcony.”

“Oh, right, right.” Tennyson still appeared unapologetic about this, even though Nicks had fired a bullet over his head on the matter. “Think of this as, like, exercise then. Training exercise.” The phone rang. It was the fourth time it’d rang, and honestly, after Nicks had grouched into it about the absolute necessity of reaffirming life with sex after an Operation that involved a lot of blood, you’d think the hotel management would stop trying to persuade them to be more quiet.

“D’you want me ta shoot it?” asked Tennyson kindly. It was rhetorical; Tennyson hated using guns when cars were available, and thus he was a terrible shot. So Nicks rolled out of bed and yanked the entire machine from the wall. “Oh, good idea, mate.”

Nicks repeated, “I’m dying,” and dropped back into bed, muffling his scream into his pillow.

-0-

Mournfully, Nicks said, “I really thought Xander or Xiang was going to stop you guys.” He shook his head. “Speaking of, where are they?” Two chairs were still empty, and it was nearing nine in the morning. So either the two most-qualified Triple X members were sleeping in, or they’d abandoned the team to the long check-out lines.

Xiang was not the type to skip free breakfast though. He’d been the one to implement the demand for hotels with free breakfasts.

“Boss knows when to let loose,” said Talon cryptically. He brightened as Hawk scooted the strawberries he picked up over to his side of the plate. “Tha-a-a-anks,” he drawled.

“Should we—go alert Xiang that breakfast hours are almost over?” asked Becky. “Cause he likes the breakfast here.” Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Even though all the breakfast items can literally be found in any Best Western or Denny’s. Is he a fan of Denny’s? Should I account for that next time we’re in the states?”

Serena patted her wrist. “He just likes free breakfast.” She tucked her silverware onto the plate and got to her feet. “Would anyone like to kick their door down with me? Just to remind them that check-out is in two hours?”

“Yes,” said Adele. “I know Xander’s planning to ditch us during the wait, and fuck if I’m letting him out of queues so early.”

-0-

“We’re going to miss breakfast,” said Xiang, the words gritted out behind clenched teeth. He clutched at the sink counter and pushed back against Xander’s grinding hips. His eyes flickered from the mirror, from his strained expression and still floppy hair, to the large paws scratching at his bare chest, to the neutral and unassuming bathroom wall.

Xander had brushed his teeth first. Xiang had thought nothing of it, not until he himself was done spitting out toothpaste foam into the sink and rinsing out his mouth. Not until Xander had crowded him against the sink, dark eyes connecting with Xiang’s through the mirror.

“You’re cheap as hell,” Xander told Xiang. He fitted his teeth at a point high on Xiang’s neck, where no high-collared button-up would hide a mark. Xander worried at the skin lightly; Xiang was particular about marks.

Xiang let his head drop. “Fine,” he groused. “ _ Fine _ . Let the opportunity for free food slip away.” There was a pause where Xander just let his hands roam, and Xiang sighed. “Are you waiting for permission, Cage?”

“That a yes?” The hopeful note made Xander sound like a puppy. Not always an inaccurate comparison.

A snicker escaped Xiang. “Were you actually waiting for us to brush our teeth before asking to fuck?” He leaned back against Xander’s chest and reached up to pat a stubbled cheek. “Very sweet, Xander Cage.” His knee jolted reflexively at the feeling of Xander’s hands sliding into his briefs and groping his ass. “… Did you bring lube.”

“Is that a deciding factor?” murmured Xander, and now one large hand was moving to Xiang’s front, loosely stroking his cock.

Xiang laughed. “I’m not letting you fuck me dry.”

Xander groused. “It’s somewhere on the bed.” He let out an ‘oof’ as Xiang spun around and pushed him back with both hands. He let out a grunt when Xiang grabbed onto his shoulders and jumped to wrap his legs around the thick waist, ankles barely crossing. Xander’s hands went to clutch Xiang tight, like he was something precious to be kept from the world.

“Watch your back,” advised Xiang. “And take me to bed.”

“’Watch my back,’” sniped Xander. “I’m not as old as you.” He staggered over to the queen-sized bed, and the grin on his face echoed Xiang’s. Playful banter— _ how _ had they gone from filthy promises hissed into each other’s skins to playful teasing?

Probably somewhere between a private mission (just the two of them, bare-knuckled brawling to reach a sex trafficker) in Chennai and a Big Operation (nuclear codes, yet a-fucking-gain) at Berlin.

Xander’s knees hit the bed, and Xiang felt himself being lowered onto wrinkled sheets that didn’t smell of sex. Last night they’d intended on it—Xiang had been pushing for it, explaining about the origins of Loud Sex Competition—but then Xiang accidentally stubbed his toe and behaved like a scalded cat for an hour, and that was the end of that.

Xander yanked off Xiang’s briefs and flung them to the side of the bed. Xiang groped around for the lube and shoved it at his hands, cap popped open. “We don’t have all morning,” he said.

“We barely have any morning left,” said Xander.

A fist pounded the door before Xander could slick his fingers. “Did you hear that?”

Affably, Xiang said, “No.” His foot pressed against Xander’s chest. “But I bet if you did hear it, it came from Adele.” He cocked his head to the side. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

Xander slicked his fingers. “If it’s Serena, she’s going to knock down the door,” he warned.

“She’s smart enough not to,” bickered Xiang, and then his breath stuttered at the first press of fingers. “Not if she—she hears us.” He tipped his head further back into the bedding and scowled at Xander’s silent disbelief. “No, I’m not going to make this easy.”

“I wasn’t even planning to make you scream,” said Xander, a little baffled. “I thought you would’ve had enough of that last night.”

“ _ I _ wasn’t the one screaming,” Xiang returned. “Come on, Cage.”

-0-

Serena held a finger to her lips, eyes narrowed as she listened closely at the door. She shook her head at Adele’s eager chin jerk, then typed out a group text. ‘Move check-out to late afternoon. Strategy session in-progress.’

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Lady Gaga's "Telephone" ;D


End file.
